


learned everything i needed to know

by tangential_space



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 23:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13177464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangential_space/pseuds/tangential_space
Summary: Mat is five seconds and one inch away from sucking some guy’s dick in the store’s cramped bathroom when he realizes he's probably in love with Thomas. It’s like, really shitty timing, but Mat’s used to rolling with the punches.





	learned everything i needed to know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aimerai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimerai/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Aimerai! I hope you like the fic - there’s no quite as much baking as I originally intended but definitely a good amount of inability to deal with feelings.
> 
> Phil Myers/Jérémy Lauzon mentions, and some probably wildly inaccurate portrayal of what getting a marriage license is like anywhere. 
> 
> Title from Keith Urban’s _John Cougar, John Deere, John 3:16_.

_**Now**_  
“Can you pass me the brown sugar?” Thomas asks, gesturing to their left. He’s busy creaming an impressive quantity of butter, and Mat has been spending the past few minutes just watching his arm move, his T-shirt stretched fascinatingly thin across his shoulders.

Mat totally hears him, he just doesn’t really feel like moving. 

“Mat,” he repeats, loudly tapping his fingers against the counter. “Barzal. You said you were gonna help, not stand around doing nothing.”

Mat lets himself fall off the counter he’d been sitting on. “Jeez, who pissed in your fucking cereals this morning.”

Thomas scoffs, grabbing the container Mat hands him. “The holiday season is the fucking worst. Do you know when’s the last time I wasn’t here for twelve hours in a row?”

He takes a look inside the container, shaking its contents around a little, before turning back towards Mat. 

“If didn’t need to do laundry, I could basically rent out my room and live here.”

Mat hums noncommittedly, reaching into the bowl with a spoon. 

“Stop it, dude. Help me or go do do your job,” Thomas mumbles, trying to shove his arm away. 

“No one’s there. And even if there was anyone, they can ring the bell at the counter.”

“But what-”

“Come on, when was the last time we had more than four people come in after 3PM? It’s all pre-orders for the holidays right now, you just said so yourself.”

“Okay, yeah, fine, that sounds about right,” Thomas relents, emptying about half of the melted chocolate and grabbing his whisk once again. “You know, I spent my first month wondering if this was a mob front or something, that place was so empty.”

Mat lets out a snort, reaching back into the bowl. “Are you serious? Not every empty or half-abandoned mom-and-pop store is a mob front, stop watching so many movies.”

“‘Empty or half-abandoned store’, thanks, that makes me feel so much better about my life choices,” stirring in the rest of the chocolate. It still tastes pretty bitter to Mat, no matter how much sugar he saw Thomas adding in earlier. Not that it stops him from going back for more.

“Hey, mob front or not, at least this is in your field. I’m just here so I can pay rent and not like, starve to death.”

 

 _ **Now**_  
Mat is five seconds and one inch away from sucking some guy’s dick in the store’s cramped bathroom when he realizes he probably is in love with Thomas. It’s like, really shitty timing, but Mat’s used to rolling with the punches. 

Thursdays are his closing days, so he’s the only one left in there. Phil had the late shift with him today, but left a little earlier to go meet up with his boyfriend, and all of the guys in the kitchen left several hours ago. 

Everything about them feels out of place in here, from Mat’s ripped jeans against the cold, pink tile of the bathroom to the guys’s short, almost buzzed, blond hair that Mat keeps forgetting isn’t long enough for to bury his hand into. 

Still, it doesn’t take all that long for him to finish, and after Mat swallows the last of his come, he can’t help but be grateful for the fact that he already got off. He wouldn’t have stopped the other guy from reciprocating, but closing his eyes and pretending the hand on his cock belonged to someone else isn’t a low he’s had to fall to in many years.

“The front door’ll lock behind you,” he says, quickly glancing back at the guy to make sure he’s on his way out. He’s really got an amazing ass, which Mat almost regrets not taking more time to appreciate. 

He takes a quick glance in the mirror before going back out, but there’s not much he can do about his hair. If anything, he might want to mess it up a little further, so that it’ll look hundred percent intentional as opposed to a poor attempt at taming post-blowjob hair. 

Then again, it’s not like there’s anyone here to notice. 

He empties the tip jar on his way out, pocketing the five dollar bill a middle-aged woman had left a few hours ago, a half-embarrassed, half-flirtatious smile on her face. 

_You make more tips in a shift than anyone else makes in a week_ , he can hear Dylan muttering in his head as he takes one final look in the mirror. He’s still for to clean up the floor before leaving, and the washroom too now.

 

 _ **Then**_  
It takes Mat almost three years, but he does eventually go out looking for the school’s ball hockey rec league. It’s not like he hasn’t known about it since his first year, but he’d never felt the desire to make hockey a part of his life again. 

So he’d mostly ignored the table at the freshman activities night, the info sheet in the dorms, and the random Facebook posts trying to get him to sign up. He had no intention of changing his mind, except that by the time he was three weeks into his second-to-last semester he’d desperately needed a distraction from the well-meaning but no less terrifying questions everyone seemed to want to ask. 

All of a sudden, hockey seemed like a pretty sensible outlet for his frustration. 

It turns out a lot more fun than Mat expected, if he’s honest. No one is really good or anything, but it’s pretty clear everyone here has spent most of their life playing some form of hockey. 

There are a couple of junior B guys, because of course there are, that one guy from Maryland that thought ball hockey was what they called lacrosse in Canada but still stuck around, and way more GTA kids than Mat is really comfortable with, but what can you do. 

It’s the fourth game of the semester and they’re all just chilling around between periods when one of the guys comes back in with the largest tupperwares Mat has ever since, filled with what looks like cookies. 

A bunch of the guys start huddling around the table where he put them down, like this is a common occurrence around here. 

The guy that brought them is hanging by the table, playing with the hem of his shorts as he rolls out his ankle. He’s tall, taller than Mat by at least an inch or two. Playing defense today, and probably most of the time considering how good he’s been at taking the puck away from Mat so far this game. 

Mat gets closer and can see that what he brought out are oatmeal bars, complete with raisins and some kind of green seeds. 

“Jesus fucking christ, what’s next dude, orange slices? Are you our secret hockey mom or what?”

“Shut up and eat your fucking oatmeal bar, man,” he tells Mat, his cheeks colouring a little. It’s hard to tell whether it’s just form the exhaustion of having spent the past half-hour running around, but he does look a bit embarrassed. It’s cute. He’s cute, if Mat’s honest, floppy hair and regrettable facial hair choices aside. 

“No, seriousl-”

The guy - Thomas he later learns - picks up one of the squares, more or less shoving it into Mat’s mouth. And okay, that’s one way of shutting someone up, sure. It’s not halfway bad either. 

 

 _ **Now**_  
Mat’s on his way back from yet another job interview he’s pretty sure won’t end up with him getting a call back when he walks past the bakery. Well, he doesn’t exactly realize that’s what it is at first, all he really notices is that it sells food and has a handwritten sign that says ‘ _Recherche serveurs_ ’ complete with two big, bright red exclamation marks. 

And food service might not be the career Mat’s after, but at this point what he really needs is a job to pay the rent. 

The guy by the counter is busy trying to seal a pastry box for the little old lady in front of him, struggling more than a little and swearing under his breath, so Mat takes a look around. The place isn’t huge, a dozen or so tables and wooden benches occupying most of the space while the counter and display cases stand to his right. They’re full of cakes and pastries, and while Mat has never had much of a sweet tooth, but he still gets the appeal.

He only realizes the woman has left when the doorbell jingles on her way out. The guy near the register is looking at him expectantly. 

“Hey, I saw the sign outside, looking for staff?” he tells him, in French. 

He confusedly blinks at Mat a few times. The guy looks about his age, and has the perpetually tired and bored look on his face that Mat associates with everyone his age. He’s tall too, has at least a couple inches on Mat, which is only accentuated by the way he’s slouching, like he’s fully never grown into his body. 

“You guys are looking for staff, right? I can’t bake for shit but I’m great with people. I’ve worked in restaurants before and all that,” he adds, because while this isn’t the job he’s dreamed of it’s better than nothing. Or Starbucks. 

“One seconde,” the guy says, holding up a finger. He pronounces ‘seconde’ like there’s an ‘é’ at the end or something.

He turns towards the back, where Mat assumes the kitchen is. 

“Thomas!” he shouts, “get the fuck over here!” And like, Mat’s been to Quebec a whole lot, even back when he didn’t really speak any French, but he doesn’t think he’s ever made anyone as annoyed by speaking the other language. 

“I was just-” 

“Yeah, yeah, no. You wait a bit,” the guy interrupts him, and honestly Mat’s not too sure what made him choose customer service but he doesn’t think it’s a match. 

He takes a closer look at the display case while waiting for the guy to come back. The section closest contains tons of tiny pastries, with shiny dark chocolate glaze, or bright red 

That’s when someone, Thomas he supposes, pushes open the set of double door leading to the back, and oh, yeah, that’s Thomas alright. 

“Did you only put up the sign in French?” the guy Mat had been talking to asks, sounding  
“Is that why literally no one has applied yet? Come on, you already have Phil, and Dubes too!” 

“Shut up Dylan, it’s there in English as well.” 

“Then why is he-”

Mat tunes them out as they bicker for a few minutes, Dylan happy to completely ignore him or any other potential customers that could come in. It give Mat gets a chance to look at Thomas. He doesn’t look all that different from when Mat last saw him; a little taller maybe, his hair shorter on the sides but still longer in the front, flopping back towards his neck. 

Mat gets lost cataloguing the ways in which he’s changed, until he notices the store is now mostly silent. He glances up.

“Hey,” Thomas says eventually, having turned away from Dylan and meeting Mat’s gaze for the first time. His smile is really more of a smirk, but one that somehow still manages to come across as sincere. “Long time no see.”

Mat shrugs, reaching up to push his hair back and away from his face. 

“Well, looks like we’ve both managed to graduate in end, huh?”

 

 _ **Then**_  
The next time Mat talks to him is more than two weeks later, right after Thomas has once again brought some snacks for everyone. 

“Seriously,” Mat asks as he bites into the lemon cookie, “what’s up with the food? Not that I’m complaining, but you know.”

“I’m a food science major,” Thomas says, like that explains everything. 

“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Thomas rolls his eyes at him, but explains. Apparently he wants to become a pastry chef or something along those lines, except his parents weren’t going to be okay with him not graduating from university, so this is the compromise they reached. 

“Most of the classes aren’t that bad, some of them might even sort of be useful one day, and the workload’s light enough that I can work part-time during the semester. Also I get to take home whatever we don’t sell, so there’s that too.”

“And you bring it to us so we can all get fat and slow, and then you can win the game.”

Thomas chuckles, his gaze trailing all the way down Mat’s body and back up. “If we’re honest, I don’t think getting fat is something you really have to worry about,” he says. “Also, I don’t need any of you to be in a food coma for us to win, so there’s that too.”

Mat doesn’t necessarily agree with his last point, but he can appreciate that level of confidence. It’s not like it’s completely unwarranted either. 

 

 _ **Now**_  
Just because Mat’s had this... epiphany doesn’t mean anything changes. He still goes to work, still see Thomas every day, still racks in more tips than anyone else on staff, and still makes his fair share of questionable decisions. He’s just a whole lot less chill about everyday things. 

“I’m tired, and we’re out of almond flour,” Thomas says as he comes out of the kitchen, carrying a small mixing bowl. 

“Shouldn’t you have left like three hours ago?” Mat is sitting on the bench by the main table. It was probably meant for large groups but in practice mostly used by stressed-out students swapping their usual caffeine rush for a sugar high. Still, it’s unfairly comfortable, and it’s not like anyone is fighting Mat for the spot ten minutes before closing.

“Big order for this weekend, I just wanted to get a head start,” he says, sitting down next to Mat. 

“And now you’re out of almond paste?”

“Flour, but yeah. I forgot the delivery got pushed back to tomorrow, and I really don’t want to pick some up at the store, it’s gonna be marked up like crazy.” He sighs, a strand of his hair falling down on his face and Mat has to fight his urge to push it back. He can’t help but feel like this is something he would have done without an afterthought a week ago, but something right now makes him feel like he should hold back. Like just touching him would make Thomas feel the mess of emotions swirling inside Mat. 

“So what is this?” Mat asks instead, as he licks from spoon and reaches back into the bowl for more once he’s decided he likes it. 

Things Mat can do: suggesting spoon-licking. Things Mat can’t do: talk about his feelings or think about his feelings. 

It tastes like cake batter, but with a little bit of a kick, some kind of aftertaste Mat can’t really place. It feels refreshing, but there’s no lemon or lime or citrus that Mat can tell. 

“No seriously, what do you have in this? It’s pretty good,” he asks again when Thomas doesn’t answer. He seems to have zoned out a little, until Mat lightly kicks him lightly in the shin. Pay attention to me, he think.

“What? Oh, that. There’s this almond cake I’ve been trying to get this right for the last couple days, it has rosewater and then these apricots on top, and it’s...”

 

 _ **Then**_  
Some of his friends like to joke that Mat is kind of a slut. It’s not like he thinks they’re completely wrong or anything, he just doesn’t get the big deal. He has a lot of sex. A lot of mostly really good sex. But it’s not like it’s all that different from how he approaches basically everything else in life.

The first time he hooks up with Thomas is almost two months after first meeting him, and unsurprisingly it happens in the locker room. It’s not like they’ve ever seen each other anywhere else on campus; Mat doesn’t even know which building the food science classes would be. 

All the other guys have already left but Mat’s in no rush. He hadn’t missed the way Thomas’ gaze sometimes lingered on him, the way his own body seemed to subconsciously lean into his when they were standing side-by-side, or finished his checks with the kind of thoroughness that would have made any coach proud. 

“The showers...,” Thomas starts, a breathy moan escaping his lips as Mat bites his way down his throat.

“Are fucking disgusting, don’t even try,” and pushes down Thomas’ towel, which seems to be enough to shut him up and put his mouth to better use. 

Mat doesn’t get people that deny themselves things, good things. and sometimes that leads them to think he’s lazy or something. Doesn’t have the drive to go for what he really wants and settles for what’s easy. 

He thinks, as he watches Thomas kiss his way down his chest, that good things can be easy, and that these easy things can also be what you really want. 

 

 _ **Now**_  
It’s mid-February, negative twenty and some with windchill, and he’s at an engagement-slash-wedding party. Honestly, he kind of always figured the first real wedding-related thing he’d go to would be a lot more put together than this. 

Phil showed up mid-afternoon, his boyfriend in tow, his cheeks flushed pink and the widest grin Mat had ever seen stretched across his face. Oh, and a shiny ring on his left hand. 

Hours later, they’re at one of the dive bars a few blocks away from the bakery, probably taking up over half of the tables, not that any of them cares. There are piles of coats on the chairs, some of them having fallen down on the floor definitely-not-clean-anymore floor, half-eaten plates of food, and many, many trays of empty shot glasses scattered across the table. 

“So wait,’ Mat asks, happily accepting the shot someone hands him, “you actually booked shit at the city hall and all that before asking him?” He doesn’t bother hiding his dubiousness. Sure, it clearly turned out fine for them, but it seem awfully presumptuous. 

Mat can’t even bring himself to ask the guy he used to hook up with if he wants to do that again, let alone go on a stupid date, so he can’t really imagine booking a city hall appointment to get married before actually proposing. Like, what. 

“Yeah, but it’s not like I just randomly thought of it, you know? And we’d already talked about it before, about wanting to get married eventually, and not have a big ceremony, at least not at first. I told him I wanted to be the one to propose, so he should... wait up. For me.”

Phil glances back towards Jeremy, who’s currently busy dancing on a chair, twirling someone around. He turns back towards Mat, “I wasn’t even worried about asking him.”

“You weren’t?” Mat asks, raising an eyebrow before downing his shot. Apparently they’ve already moved on to the part of the evening that requires tequila. 

He looks like he’s about to answer when Mat feels an arm settling against his shoulders, the other around around Phil. 

“How are my boys doing,” Thomas asks loudly, sounding just a little tipsy. He forcefully pulls Phil towards him, planting a loud, wet kiss on his cheek. Phil laughs, and pushes him off after a moment.

“Okay, okay! Married man over here, find someone else to defile!”

Thomas lets out a snort, patting Phil’s cheek before letting go of both of them and settling against the bar. 

“I think you’re needed over there, unless we want to get thrown out for public indecency. Or lose your boyfriend to jager shots.”

“Husband,” Phil says, sounding more than a little smug. 

Thomas shakes his head and smiles. “Right, husband. You crazy fuckers.”

Phil shoots them a bright smile, grabbing his glass off the bar and heading back towards the group. 

They stand together in silence at the bar for a few minutes, Mat eventually grabbing Thomas’ glass when he realizes his own is empty. 

“I mean sure, just help yourself, dude,” Thomas says, barely bothering to sound annoyed. 

Mat passes it back to him quickly, the taste of licorice making him wince. “Yeah, you can have that back.”

“Did you hear that?” he asks eventually, nodding in Phil’s direction. 

Thomas hums questioningly, before taking another sip of his drink. 

“On your way over, did you hear about he was saying? About Jeremy, and proposing...”

“Oh. Yeah, some of it, yeah,” Thomas replies. “I mean it’s... They’ve been together forever, it’s not that crazy, technically.”

Mat’s not sure how to say that no, it’s indeed not crazy, or at least not for them, but that it’s deeply terrifying to him that he can sort of get the point of all this. 

Thomas seems to take his silence for disagreement, or at least skepticism. 

“Come on, I don’t care how cynical you are about this shit. You can’t tell me they aren’t fucking cute together.” 

“No... They’re cute. And good together, yeah. It’s just, marriage, you know? It’s so fucking grown-up. When did everyone stop not having any of their shit together and started thinking about long-term plan and forever? And not just thinking about it, but actually doing it?”

And when did that start sounding appealing to me, Mat finished in his head. He hasn’t gone crazy okay, it’s not like he’s thinking he wants to marry Thomas now or anything like that. Except that when he glances at Phil and sees the look of pure happiness on Phil’s face, the way his gaze seems to be fixated on Jeremy, the quiet smiles they exchange, he can’t help but think it sounds nice. 

“I mean that’s just them,” Thomas replies. “Doesn’t mean it has to be what everyone wants, or wants right now,” he adds, sounding more careful than Mat is used to hearing him.

“I guess, yeah...”

They’re both silent for a few moments, Mat trying to find something less life-altering to focus on.

It’s only then that he notices they’ve drifted away from the crowd a little further, standing in their own secluded little corner of the bar. Mat reaches for his glass, just wanting something to do with his hands, but remembers halfway through that it’s still empty, because he never bothered to ask for a refill. 

A little further down, Phil seems to have managed to convince Jeremy to stop dancing on the chair. They’ve moved on to necking like teenagers, with everyone else politely ignoring them and focusing on Luc’s less-than-successful attempts at 

“-out?” he hears Thomas ask, suddenly snapping back to reality. He’s looking at Mat semi-expectantly, but something in the way he stands, one hand awkwardly grabbing the bar, feels a little unsure. Mat watches him smooth the non-existent wrinkles out of his shirt, following his hand as it moves down his chest once, twice. 

He looks up belatedly because, yeah, right, Thomas is still waiting for an answer and Mat still has no clue what he said. 

“Sorry, say what? I wasn’t...”

Thomas rolls his eyes at him, his body relaxing a little next to Mat and a familiar smile settling on his face. 

“I asked if you want to get out of here,” he repeats, leaning in a little closer. 

His arm brushes against Mat’s own, skin against skin where the sleeve of his shirt has been rolled up. He can feel Thomas’ leaning against his side, a solid presence Mat has become so used to over the past few months, and his breath is warm against the side of Mat’s neck. 

Mat wants nothing more than to lean further into Thomas, to say yes and bring him back to his apartment. Except that not exactly right, because Mat also really fucking wants to lean further into him and stay here, to hold his hand as they watch their friends make idiots of themselves, to get Thomas to tell him about the raspberry cake that’s been keeping him late in the kitchen for the past week, to leave and go cuddle on his couch, marathon one of the many baking shows Thomas has too many opinions about and play with his hair. 

Mat only realizes he’s been silent, his gaze fixated on Thomas’ face, for a few seconds too long when he feels him move a few steps away. His arm is no longer touching

“I...,” he starts, but any words he might have had just die on his tongue, and he’s nervously biting his lip,looking probably as confused as he feels. 

“Nevermind, I don’t know why...,” Thomas starts, before also trailing off. He does however seem to pull himself together faster than Mat, and continues, “That was dumb, I shouldn’t have said that.” 

His gaze seems to be jumping all over the room, never focusing on anything specific but notably avoiding Mat’s eyes. 

“No, that’s not what-” Mat tries. Fuck, he figured he was bound to mess up eventually with Thomas, but he’d never imagined that way. 

“Seriously, forget I said anything, that was so dumb. I should get going though, I’ve gotta be in early tomorrow, so I’ll see you next time you’re in.” He’s speaking fast, like he needs to get the words out now and immediately distance himself in any way possible. By the time Mat is about to protest again, or at least attempt to clear things up, Thomas already has his coat on and seems to have moved halfway through the room. 

“I’ll just go say congrats again to the guys. And I’ll see you whenever I see you.” He pauses, looking in Mat’s direction but still avoiding his gaze. “So tomorrow, I guess,” he finishes, before turning around and walking purposefully towards the other end of the bar, leaving Mat alone and confused, but mostly angry at himself. 

Well fuck.

 

 _ **Then**_  
“So, what does the kitchen of a food major look like?”

They’re walking back from the gym together, because neither of them felt like waiting for the rest of the guys to leave. Besides, there is something to be said for fucking in a bed. 

“I didn’t really think you were the sort of guy that was gonna need dinner first.”

“Well, definitely not first,” Mat leers, grabbing the door as Thomas fumbles with it, his arm caught in the strap of his bag. 

Later, Thomas has Mat spread out on his bedsheets and lowers himself on him carefully, his breathing loud in the quiet of the room. From this angle, Mat has a perfect view of his chest, his throat, his nipple hard and red and wet from Mat biting them earlier. 

The curtains next to the bed are drawn tight, but not enough to do more than dim the brightness of the daylight outside and Mat isn’t sure when’s the last time he had middle-of-the-afternoon sex in an actual bed. 

Mat wants nothing more than to grab him, catch onto his hips and bury himself into the tight heat of his body. He feels like it takes every ounce of his self-control not to, letting Thomas control the pace instead, as he racks his nails against his thighs, leaving bright red marks in their wake. 

“You’re fucking killing me,” he says, his voice coming out in short and breathy rasps. 

Above him, Thomas finally looks down, a satisfied if lazy smile on his face. “Good,” he says, and finally leans down to kiss Mat again. 

_**Now**_  
Mat has very valid reasons for avoiding the morning shift, like the fact that he lives a good half-hour away and has no interest in waking up at 6AM unless the world is ending. Some of the other guys, like Dylan, will take it just to avoid having to deal with clean up in the evening but that’s in no way worth it to Mat. Like, not even close. 

He know the guys in the kitchen show up even earlier, but he thankfully hasn’t had much of a chance to actually see it in person. That is, until Dylan calls him at five fucking thirty on a Tuesday morning. He sounds like death warmed over, which is the only thing that stops Mat from murdering him over the phone. 

His car is at the garage, has been for over a week, and he really has no excuse for not thinking to check the bus schedule. Except he still doesn’t, and ends up waiting at the stop for twenty minutes, because it’s barely 6AM and of course there’s no reason to have buses every ten minutes yet. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s not even one of the newer bus stops, with an actual bench and glass panels and all that, it’s just a sign attached to the traffic light. It feels like the wind is blowing right into his face no matter which way he turns to, and he can tell his slightly-wet hair is about to turn into an actual nightmare. 

The only saving grace, it appears, is that traffic turns out ot be pretty non-existent that early, and Mat gets in earlier than expected despite everything. He’s still not much more awake than half an hour ago though, and mostly just wants to get inside so he can have some coffee. 

He’s not in first, which would actually have been worrying, but based on the cars in the parking lot only Thomas and Julien seem to be there. 

Just seeing at the empty display case and coffee machine makes him want to walk right back out. He gets some coffee started, but figures he can waste at least a few minutes in the kitchen before actually needing to do anything.

Julien and Thomas are standing in opposite corners, each working silently. Julien’s phone is blasting some kind of French metal Mat doesn’t recognize, although he can appreciate how angry it sounds right now. 

‘Wow, I’m glad you guys look as fucking miserable as I feel,” he says, jumping up to sit on the counter behind Thomas. It apparently only then that they both notice him, Julien only sparing a quick glance at him as he wipes his hands down. He nods in his direction, but apparently his mode of communication is strictly non-verbal that early. Mat can’t say he minds, or disagrees for that matter. 

Thomas turns back, raises his eyebrows at him. “I’m surprised Dylan managed to get you to cover for him.”

“Even I am not that much of a dick, come on. He sounded halfway dead.”

Thomas snorts, reaching to his left to sprinkle some flour on the counter. He’s got his apron on, looking possibly cleaner than Mat has ever seen it since he started working here. 

It’s been two weeks since that conversation at the bar, a night Mat has mostly tried to erase from his memory through copious amounts of alcohol. He can’t say he’s had that much success, but Thomas had made things easier by acting completely normal the next day. And sure he’d been a little busier than usual in the kitchen, Mat not seeing him at all until halfway through his shift, but that’s not that unusual. Besides, it’s by far superior to his own coping mechanism, which had been to spend half the morning wondering if he should just call in sick. 

As far as Mat can tell though, they’re all good now. Thomas is clearly over it, and Mat would like to think he’s got his emotions under control. 

“So what are you up to?” he asks, a yawn escaping him. 

“Don’t you have a job? I could swear we hired you for something,” Thomas mutters as he works the dough against the counter. His arms are moving quickly, a practiced ease behind the motion that Mat can’t stop himself from staring at. 

He zones out for a few minutes, until Thomas stops, raising one hand to rub the sleep out of his eye. He reaches once, twice, scrunches his nose as he clearly fails to successfully do so, and tries a third time. Mat think it’s painfully adorable, and wishes he could hate himself a little bit less for thinking so.

Mat snaps out of it when one of the oven beeps, and lets himself fall back down. 

He brings three cups back into the kitchen a few minutes later, handing one to Julien before setting the other one down on the end of the counter Thomas is still working on, far enough away that there’s very little chance of him accidently pushing it off. 

“Shouldn’t you be better at mornings? I mean, I have an excuse, but there’s no way you’re not used to it.”

“‘M not a morning person,” Thomas mutters. “I just.. I mind it a little less than most other people I guess, but that doesn’t mean I like them. Besides, it’s not like I could have this job and not have to be up early. It’s not the worst trade-off.”

Mat doesn’t bother hiding how unconvinced he is, but lets it go regardless. Instead, he moves in a little closer, until he can reach and pull at a piece of the dough and break it off. It’s soft, but also somehow really greasy, leaving a shiny trail on Mat’s fingers as brings it up to his mouth. 

“Oh my god, wash your fucking hands. Also don’t eat that, it’s gonna taste disgusting,” Thomas says as he reaches over to slap his arm away. 

“Jesus, someone’s pissy in the morning.”

“No seriously, don’t do it.”

“What are you talking about, this is just cookie do-” Mart starts, stopping as he chews and is suddenly hit with the taste and texture of butter. Not something buttery, no, but like he just bit into a piece of actual butter. He chews carefully a few more times, and there’s clearly some dough in there too, but that doesn’t mask the fact that he just chewed into a thing of pure fat. 

He looks up and notices Thomas watching him, eyebrow raised. He doesn’t look surprised in the slightest when Mat spits it back out. 

“The fuck was that?”

“I told you not to eat it,” Thomas says, ignoring his question in favor of reaching to his right to grab a rolling pin. 

“Also, go back in there. You’re gonna hate yourself by the time we open if you don’t have your shit ready.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you ever leave your lair; you don’t even refill out front when we’re short on stuff, you just leave the trays by the door half the time.”

“Okay, a, that’s such a fucking lie. I’m literally the only one that ever helps you out with that,” Thomas replies, looking a little affronted. Which, now that Mat thinks about it, he might be right about. He can’t remember Julien or Luc ever helping him out front unless he threatened them with bodily harm. 

Huh. Well, that’s... nice to know, at the very least. He chooses to table that for now. 

“And b?” Mat asks, curious. 

“And b, you really need to get stuff going out front. And then you can have some of those,” he says, nodding at the dough in front of him. He’s rolled it out much thinner than earlier, but keeps folding it back onto itself. 

“Considering what the dough tasted like, I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“You tried it right after I put the butter on, it’s not my fault you don’t listen to people. Give it a hour and you’ve have the best scones you’ve ever tasted.”

“If you say so...,” Mat says, making no effort to hide his skepticism. He jumps off the counter, and finishes what little was left in his cup. “Alright, you know where to find me if these turn out okay. And if not, just keep them for whoever’s on the afternoon shift.”

He doesn’t need to turn around to know Thomas is shaking his head at him, but also probably smiling. 

 

 _ **Then**_  
In the end, it’s not like they ever purposefully stop hooking up, it just ... lose sight of each other. 

Mat skips three games in row, because he really fucking needs to pass this last calc requirement to graduate and there is no way he’s getting stuck here over the summer, or god forbid for another semester, just because he fucked up on a multiple-choice final. 

And their league might only be five teams, but it feels like they must have gotten all their games against Thomas’ pretty early. He does see him one more time at the gym, but Thomas ends up leaving in a rush, halfway through the game. 

Practically-speaking, Mat knows he could text him. He has Thomas number, although if we looked at his phone he’d probably see fewer than twenty messages exchanged between them, and half of them are probably just emojis. 

Anyway, Mat tends to feel like three to four times is the perfect repeat hookup number. It’s enough to figure out what works best for everyone and make the most, but not so much that there starts being any expectations. 

 

 _ **Now**_  
The end of winter typically means a significant pick-up in sales for the store, or at least according to everyone that’s been around for long enough. Mat has definitely been having to stay a little later than usual for the past weeks, and can’t waste his afternoons away on his phone anymore. 

Today has been no exception so far, until the post-lunch crowd finally emptied out half an hour ago. He clears up the tables, mildly offended by the barely half-eaten pistachio and raspberry eclair someone had left on their plate. He’s offended on the behalf of the guys in the kitchen, because their eclairs are fucking awesome, but also just as a hungry person who’s store-bought sandwich is getting less appealing by the minute. 

“Hey, you know how you said you were gonna let me help you out in the kitchen one of these days?” he asks Thomas a little later. He doesn’t think the lone couple seated next to the window is going to need anything from him for a while. 

Thomas is standing by the sink, seemingly struggling to clean some weirdly shaped utensil. A mixed attachment maybe? 

“It’s my mom’s birthday next week,” Mat continues, moving towards him, “so I figured it’d be a good time for you to, you know, pass on some knowledge or something.”

Thomas finally looks up, “I don’t think your inability to bake anything edible is something we can fix in one afternoon, honestly.”

“Hey,” he protests, but sounds weak even to his own ears. Dammit, Mat knew he shouldn’t have told him all these dumb childhood stories about the times he tried any form of cooking or baking, and how they all ended in disaster. At the time, they just seemed like fun stories to share, making Thomas laugh at him, but not unkindly. 

“Come on, I’ll let you help me if you promise not to actually touch the batter unless I tell you to.”

Mat thinks he manages to follow that one rule pretty damn well, settling for passing utensils and ingredients to Thomas when he asks for them. He watches Thomas work instead, methodical and careful in a way Mat doesn’t think he is about much. It’s relaxing in its own way, and gives him plenty of time to think before he speaks. 

“So, you remember that night at the bar a few weeks ago?” he asks. “After Phil and Jeremy got married.”

He can see the wooden spoon Thomas is holding come to a stop, the room silent for a few moment until he replies. 

“Yeah, I remember.” He picks the spoon up again, this time mixing the dough much

Mat licks his lips nervously, waiting until Thomas looks back at him to continue. 

“So the thing is, it’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s really not that.”

“Mat,” Thomas says, sounding a strange mix of unsure yet resigned. “I figured we weren’t talking about it because we’d both agreed to just.. move along.”

“Right, yeah, and that’s fair. I just... I never really got to say what I wanted to that night. And that’s on me, believe me, I know. But I wanted to say it now anyway, because I feel like I have to so we can all move then.”

Thomas turns towards him, crossing his arms over his chest and looking expectantly at him.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to go back to your place,” Mat starts, and really hopes he’s gonna manage to get it right this time. “Any day that ends with y, and you know I’ve got no reason to turn that down.”

 

Thomas nods carefully, and while his face still looks closed off he hasn’t moved out of Mat’s reach.

“Right, so there’s that. But I also didn’t want that, or not just that at least. And it’s not because of Phil’s stuff, or because I’m freaking out about life. I mean, I am freaking out, clearly, but not about you. Like, because of you maybe, but about you. And if anything I’m more sure tha-”

“You’re not making any sense, Mat,” Thomas interrupts him quietly. He thinks back to what he’s said over the past thirty seconds and thinks that yeah, maybe Thomas has a point. He forces himself to take a deep breath, straighten his back and look directly at Thomas. 

“What I’m saying is, when we’re both done here tonight, do you want to go back to my place? Except before that we can grab dinner, or go see a movie, or whatever the hell people do. Then we can go back to mine. Or yours if you want, that’s obviously fine too. But I want the first part as well. And you can stick around for breakfast, even though I still can’t cook for shit and you probably wake up at like 4AM. But I want you to stay till breakfast, and after that too, and that’s kind of my point here.”

Mat doesn’t think he’s ever quite word-vomited that much before, but it’s all worth it when he sees a smile etch on Thomas’ face, the uncertainty from earlier slowly disappearing. 

“Mat Barzal, are you saying you want to-”

“I’m saying I want to take you on a stupid date, you asshole. And, you know, assuming that goes well, I wanna take you on a whole lot more. We already know the sex is pretty great. You always laugh at my jokes, so you’ve gotta think I’m at least more than a little funny. And I think you’re smart, and fucking hilarious, and always game for trying whatever weird id-”

Mat never does get to finish that sentence, which is probably fine because it was definitely heading somewhere embarrassing, and there’s no sentence he’d rather finish when the other option is kissing Thomas back. 

For all that Thomas is interrupting him, the kiss is tentative, like he still thinks Mat might push him away again. He’s got one hand on Mat’s shoulder, lightly holding onto to him but not bringing them closer together either. Or at least not until Mat responds, deepens the kiss and does his best to remove any trace of doubt from Thomas. 

He wraps one arm around his waist, the other in his hair, and pushes him back against the counter. This is better than whatever foggy memories had from college he thinks, as he bites Thomas’ lip, eliciting a quiet moan.

“Making out in the kitchens is so not sanitary,” Thomas laughs when he moves back a little, both of them finally getting a chance to breathe. 

Mat looks up at him and smirks, “If this goes how I hope it does, there’s a lot worse coming that way.”

Thomas throws his head back and laughs, a bright and wonderful sound amidst the otherwise quiet kitchen, full of promises. Mat can’t wait to hear it again. And again and again.


End file.
